Logs:Too Much Spirit
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| RL Date: 10 August, 2012 |
| Who: Taikrin, Azaylia |
| Type: Log |
| What: A continuation of this scene. After Brieli leaves, Azaylia and Taikrin continue to talk. Their dragons get acquainted. BAD idea! |
| Where: Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr |
| When: Day 19, Month 6, Turn 29 (Interval 10) |
| Garden Patio Ledge, High Reaches Weyr Partly sheltered by the curving stone overhang, partly exposed to the weather, the wide stone patio serves as a balcony for socializing or just plain drinking on a sizable scale. The repurposed ledge might once have let two large dragons land, but now there's too much furniture for that: two rustic tables with attendant chairs, plus a couple more in particularly good weather, and a wrought iron bench situated to make the most of the view of the western bowl and the lake beyond. Other changes include rough little niches carved out of the stone walls to hold glows in colored bottles at night, the climbing plant that's being trained to grow up along the overhang, and the blue ceramic pots of flowers that dot the edge of the ledge as a colorful reminder not to fall off. An archway leads to the Snowasis itself, housed in the ledge's former weyr, while a few wide steps descend along the wall to the bowl. The face that Taikrin makes is definitely a pre-reaction to the hasty sip of the fruity cocktail, and not at all related to Azaylia's sudden line of questions. She takes her time with it, only raising eyebrows from behind the glass at Brieli's escape. Lowering it, finally, she offers, "Of course-- see you around." There's still another moment of watching her go -- perhaps a bit too intent on her retreating figure -- before she turns back to Azaylia with the most cool calm she can muster. "Yeah, sure. Different. It was supposed to be a late trade for Tiriana, actually, since she was a Telgar gold." It's not a bad attempt, though she notably doesn't say anything about Iolene or K'del and their clutches. Azaylia gives a low, easy to miss whimper in her throat at the sight of Brieli cleaning up. "Bye, Brieli." She murmurs, retreating a bit into her shy shell now that her friend has gone and left her alone with a stranger. Taikrin seems nice enough, so there are obvious attempts made to continue being friendly. "That makes sense..." Failure as a goldrider, letting things get awkwardly silent before she glances over at the brownrider. "So, you... are in a fighting wing, right? Or, uhm, what would be..." If there were Thread, that is. "You seem pretty, uhm..." So many words, some better than others until she finally settles on,"...tough." That shouldn't offend her, right? Taikrin is scarred as any miner-bred child right be, and more beside. It's more obvious now that she has a bit of summer color to her cheeks, and her short-cropped hair only makes it more obvious. She certainly doesn't seem to take offense at the observation. Instead, she salutes Azaylia with her glass, laughs, and agrees. "We got tapped into Glacier, and I reckon we'll be there 'til we die. Gotta be tough to run with Glacier. Us especially. You met all the wingleaders already, yeah? Like F'rint? He runs a tough wing." As if to prove a point, she knocks back the entirety of the fruity cocktail in a couple big swallows. There's a puppydog tilt to her head as Azaylia tries to recall specific wing names, "Glacier... We must have had drills with you by now?" From the sound of the wing, and this F'rint fellow, perhaps they are less inclined to humor the weyrlings and WLM. "Our most recent drill was with Icicle. Uhm. I don't think Hraedhyth would like it in that wing very much..." As if the gold has a choice in where she's placed. With the way the weyrling is talking, it sounds as though she just might. She follows the brownrider's gulps with a much smaller sip, "F'rint seemed nice." A pause, "Well not nice nice, but he wasn't too scary. Kind of reminded me a little of my Papa, though." "Hraedhyth--" Taikrin says the name as if tasting it, or perhaps letting Szadath taste it, from her brief lack of focus. "-- reckon she might be okay in Glacier, if that was a thing they did. Seems like she's got spirit." She grins toothily as she discards her empty glass to exchange it for the one Brieli abandoned. "Icicle's boring. So's Snowdrift. Avalanche's terrible. F'rint and Glacier know how to use a dragon with spirit, though. Spirit's good in a dragon." Beat. "Better in a queen, if you catch my meaning." Azaylia visibly brightens on the subject of her dragon. "Val said, well hinted really, uhm... That maybe we wouldn't have to go into Aurora." Taikrin's grin is contagious, even if the smile on her own face is much smaller, more subdued. "She might be, but I'm not as... I don't know if I would fit in. As a rider." A giggle, knowing she shouldn't at the way the brownrider insults the other wings. It's not very nice, after all. "A lot of people would say she has too much spirit... Especially for a queen." Meaning Taikrin's opinion puts her in the minority. "Those people're idiots. Everyone knows a queen with spirit makes the best sort of leader. Ain't no such thing as too much spirit." The more Taikrin drinks -- or perhaps the more she relaxes, as there's no hint of alcohol in her voice -- the thicker her accent becomes. "Reckon she can do whatever she wants, when the time comes. Who's gonna tell her she can't, is what I want to know?" More pragmatically, she finishes off a big chunk of her drink and continues, "You'll find a happy place with her. You only been together what, a couple months? Half a turn? Give it time." Ducking behind her glass, there's no way Azaylia can hide the bright smile, "Careful, or Hraedhyth might get flattered and steal Szadath's ledge." While that is entirely possible she doesn't really mean it as a threat. Not with so much affection for the brawny gold in her voice. Her answer is a logical one, "The Senior Queen?" And on a lesser note, Cadejoth though that could just be her lifemate's age. "I am happy, I mean. We are getting better." Only now does she realize that where the focus of their conversation has been. A quiet squeak, "Oh! I'm sorry, I... tell me about yourself. About your Szadath." After that, she quiets with a much larger gulp. Possible punishment for forgetting her manners. Taikrin's snort is not exactly complementary when Azaylia mentions Ysavaeth. "Yeah, I don't reckon anything's going to stop her if she gets going." All soothingly, she offers over her empty glass, "Don't worry your head-- Szad's just as interested as I am in learnin' about you and your mate. He's--" She cranes her neck back to squint towards the spires. Barely visible are the specs of dragons twining in and out of the spires. Presumably one is Szadath. "He's Szadath. Flies, fights, chases. Ain't so much to tell about us, really. We're simple riders, havin' a simple life." But then she's leaning in, voice a smidge lower, to ask, "Anything in particular you want to know?" Azaylia gives Taikrin an odd look for that snort, face smoothing so as not to seem impolite. "She does seem very... motivated." Spinning it to sound at least somewhat complimentary. She reaches the bottom of her glass faster than anticipated, pushing it away, towards the center of the table. "He is?" Not an ounce of suspicion, just curiosity. "Fights? Like, wrestles?" Oh no, let's hope that particular fact doesn't get back to Hraedhyth. The gold weyrling doesn't seem terribly uncomfortable as the woman leans in. In fact, she mirrors the motion to a lesser extent, as if there's going to be some secret shared. "Nothing I can really think of, no. I try not to be terribly nosy." As interesting as the brownrider is. "Something like that," she replies. "He's a male. They fight. It's all friendly." Except, of course, when it isn't. "He's a big one, so he likes to throw his weight around. Roughhouse." Taikrin raises a hand casually, to signal the waiter to join them when he's finished with his current table. "It ain't bein' nosy if I invite you, you know. But like I said, I ain't really very interesting." As if that settled something, she leans back again and thumps her hands on the table. "So what they got you guys doing, anyways? Betweening drills yet?" There's no subtlety to the bruising roar of the mind that crashes against yours, all cold and smoke and strange echoes. « Hey. » It's odd, how so very male a voice can somehow hold an echo of Taikrin's undeniably female tones. (Szadath to Hraedhyth) Azaylia's eyes light up with an inner flame that isn't hers, snuffed out with that tell-tale glazed expression. "...Oh dear." She looks very much the part of a worried mother, cradling one elbow in her hand as the other touches fingertips to her growing smile. It's almost hidden, the way her lips silently mouth 'play nice'. "I think you're interesting." She pipes up, as if Taikrin could possibly suffer from low self esteem. "Not Between, no. The fighting dragons are learning to flame, I'm learning the Flamethrower... And lots, and lots of hidework." Another small smile, not expecting the older rider to be terribly impressed. Drums answer promptly, already thundering on in their usual way when the brown introduces himself. Or as she sees it, issues his noisy challenge. Excuse me? No. Hraedhyth's reply is the roar of flame, mingling well with the thunderous bellows of a nightmarish army. « HEY. » Voice deepening by the day, it still belies her youth, clearly feminine. (Hraedhyth to Szadath) "Flamethrower's good," Taikrin allows, but she's not terribly enthusiastic about it. "How's Hraedhyth feel about not getting to flame? Some of the queens get real bothered about it. Iskiveth even tried it once, but of course it don't really work that way." As the waiter starts towards the table, Taikrin asides out a quick order for 'two of the usual' and just like that, he's off. "You doing the good kind of hidework or the boring?" Because that might not be clear, she adds, "You know, formations and fighting, or counting carrots?" Those drums find an odd echo in Szadath's mind, absorbed and reverbed back to her. « Hey. » From passive interest to active; something in those flames finds and holds his interest-- he wreathes his own acrid smoke through them. « So you're the new little queen. » (Szadath to Hraedhyth) "She was upset, at first." Azaylia admits, not that she sounds terribly worried. "I told her what happened to Iskiveth." The young gold probably doesn't even remember the warning by now. "And that she'd be hurting High Reaches, if she tried." That has stuck with the dragonet so far, as there's been no emergency trips to the dragonhealers. "The goldrider kind." She offers with an ounce of something playful, "Learning the bloodlines, keeping track of the mating cycles... a lot of dragonhealing." Not terribly exciting, even if Azaylia seems perfectly content about the subject. To Szadath, Hraedhyth likes that echo, thundering even harder, wanting to see just how LOUD she can get within the brown's mind. If it ends up tossed back over her dark plains, she'll relish the vibrations and chaotic noise. Her smoke burns black but natural, a clear difference drawn between his and hers. « My Sister is new. » And littler, for as long as that will last. « Mine says you are Szadath. I know of you from Visigoth. » "I reckon you'll find plenty of the males will be happy to make fire for her, if she asks. Or maybe even if she don't." Taikrin flashes her teeth again in an all-too-knowing smile. "Reckon there's a lot of lessons of what not to do people'd have her take from Iskiveth. Not all of 'em are necessary. Don't let 'em cow her spirit." Odd, how that sort of sounds like an order. "Good to have something exciting, when they have you doing boring stuff, ain't it? Silver-knot stuff's important, though." The concession is just that-- a concession, and it sounds like such. "But you like it?" To Hraedhyth, Szadath's mind is loud, and only grows moreso. It's the roar of a crowd in a cavern, of Hraedhyth's own drums, of battles and clashes he can't possibly have ever experienced. « You're both new. Maybe not so litte though. » A consideration of that mention of Visigoth, then a peal of delight that echoes wildly. « Visigoth's good. So, big-little queen Hraedhyth. What can you do? » Perhaps it's the tequila making her so bold, head tilting to give Taikrin a look of disbelief. "So soon? Hraedhyth is just a baby." This is her mantra, don't try and ruin it with reality. Azaylia doesn't look convinced by that order, "They can try. I... wouldn't suggest that they do. That would end very badly." Confidence only coming out in regarding her dragon's stubborn will. She nods, agreeing the importance of her work even if it eats up her free time. "It's my duty." Not a direct answer, "It's something I need to learn. I don't dislike it, I just wish..." She trails off, once again finding herself in the spotlight and falling quiet. To Szadath, Hraedhyth rallies her troops, their cries thankfully ones of celebration and victory rather than war. She adds the voices to his own roaring crowd, snarls adding a savage echo to the masses. « I can fight. » Too rough, too excited, jaws salavating and snapping the words at him though there's no true bloodlust behind them. There are other answers: fly, run, roar louder than anyone in the weyr. But they're not as fun. "Well, maybe not just yet. Sooner than you think, though. It goes awful fast." This time, she's all too aware of the approaching waiter with his two glasses of an amber liquid, and Taikrin takes hers with gusto. "Ahhh, this's the good stuff. Ain't so sweet. Try one, if you like." She goes quiet, contemplating Azaylia -- or maybe Szadath? "Good to do your duty, but don't forget to do stuff you want to do too, yeah? Easier once you're graduated, a'course." Another dragon might tease or calm or soothe. Szadath doesn't know how to do anything but challenge, but with boisterous enthusiasm. « How fast can you fight? Fly? Chase? » His share is almost a taunt: chasing a pair of greens on a tricky winding course through the unpredictable winds in the spires, blood pumping, muscles flexing, roar and twist and catch and chase. « How do you fight? » (Szadath to Hraedhyth) Azaylia is at least sitting up and speaking freely, that's certainly progress. Her glass gets a quiet, if wary sort of stare. She likes sweet. "When I get the time..." After graduation most likely. She picks up the glass and inspects it, unaware of the tilt to her head, the way she sniffs at it much like Hraedhyth might when presented with something foreign to her. A sip that's quickly followed by a squeaky wheeze, squinting at Taikrin and placing it back down. "How are you still alive?" She whispers, barely audible. To Szadath, Hraedhyth crackles with a response from her flames this time, « Faster than you. » Another series of rapid, saucy snaps from within her hearth. Flying is alright, though it doesn't hold her interest as much as tusseling in the dirt of the bowl. Teeth and claws and throwing one's weight around. This is a memory she shares, wrestling with a different brown and holding her own. She pushes it at him with a little queenly force. Rather than try and bend him to her will, it's far more like a physical SHOVE, probably trying to knock him a little off course. What? It's all in good fun. Good thing she's still young. That prompts a genuine uproar of laughter, enough so that Taikrin actually sets her glass down to avoid spilling it. "S'good whiskey! Maybe takes a little getting used to, though," she manages once she's regained some control. "Just sip it real slow. Or don't, if you don't like it. I'll drink it." To prove her point, she takes another long sip from her own glass. "Tell me if Szad's causing you trouble with her. He gets a little... rowdy." Yeeeeeeah. A grunt, part mental and part physical, at Hraedhyth's shove. There's delight in it as well as effort, though also some resistance she might not expect in the not-memory of the roar of bright flames that are like-and-unlike her own that jars loose. « Not bad for a little-big queen! » he crows. And the crowd goes wild! « You should show us what else you can do. You should chase with us. » (Szadath to Hraedhyth) Another squeak, this time louder and more frightened at the noises that are coming out of Taikrin. Oh wait, that's laughter. Slow to relax, her smile is nervous, "It's a little mean, after something as nice as the other kind." Is it a wonder that the liquor contrasts as much as the riders drinking it? No one wants to seem ungrateful, especially the weyrling, so she'll take dainty little sips that don't have her spasming as badly. A giggle, "I was about to say the same. I know how Hraedhyth can get. She's sent a bronze or two running, before." That shouldn't be as funny as it is. To Szadath, Hraedhyth snarls with pleasure, delighting in the resistance rather than seeing it as disrespectful. « That's LIL' QUEEN to you. » An echo of something ancient, not her own sound but rather mechanical groans buried deep, somewhere far far away. It's gone in an instant, outdone by the drums that race with her beating heart. « I'll do better. » She warns, and many will see the tawny warrior launch herself into the air with one of her too-deep bellows. « I'll drag you out of the sky! » As close to an idle threat as she dares, it will likely be an attempt to bully and shoulder him to the ground for some real competition. She'll take it as good as she gives, too, if the slightly smaller gold can even catch up. "I don't doubt that she has," Taikrin agrees genially, as if it were only a just and natural part of life. "Bronzes are mostly useless. Don't believe I've ever seen anything send Szad running." As she sips, her gaze goes distant-- flying with the brown, most likely, because she then groans out a protest. "Bloody shells, already? That didn't take long. Reckon I ought to redirect him before Meara really does come and skin the pair of us. With your pardon?" It's not even a resistance Szadath seems to be aware he has-- it's just something that is. As high as he is, the winds are somewhere between tricky and impossible for a growing weyrling dragon. Even when he dives down, powerfully mastering his bulk to swing right past her, he leaves a confusing swirl of wind behind him. « Little-big queen, didn't anyone teach you that I am supposed to chase you? » Humor in those echoed drums, and his acrid smoke trails a merry wreath. « Another time. I'll teach you how a fight-and-chase really goes. » Reluctant to leave, reluctant to abandon his turn to come about and chase after her, but the need is there nonetheless. (Szadath to Hraedhyth) Poor Azaylia, so oblivious as to the source of her dragon's violent delight, the one that has her grinning like a loon. It's Taikrin's oath that clues her in, brown gaze unfocused as the full extent of Hraedhyth's excitement washes over her. "Hrae!" Enough breathless fear to make up for the gold's utter lack of it, "Oh..! Wherryfeathers. I'm sorry, I should have kept a closer eye-" Turning her head, a quiet reprimand whispered into the air, "No, you do not bite tails, that is rude." And back to the brownrider, "I'm sorry. I... I'll owe you a drink? Uhm, I should probably calm her down. She's not going to be very happy." Already turning, pausing only to snatch up her hides, long legs have her running for the exit. Ohdear, ohdear! Nothing is impossible for Hraedhyth, and she's utterly prepared to prove it. Then Szadath has to go and drop like a stone, drumroll fading into a growl that carries genuine fury. « Where do you think you are GOING? » Wings angle, the turn is sloppy, and she's doing her best to keep up the chase. His tail does look awfully tempting until there's a sudden smothering of kindness. A big, soft yet strong down comforter meant to stifle her fire, weighing her down, dragging her back to earth. Azaylia. « COWARD. » Echoed in her physical roar, Hraedhyth is going to make sure that nobody gets any peace this evening. There will be pounding, drum-beaten headaches all around! At least until Ysavaeth (or Cadejoth) intervenes. Why are riders utter fightblocks? (Hraedhyth to Szadath) To Hraedhyth, Szadath loves it. LOVES IT. |
Comments
Brieli (Brieli) left a comment on Fri, 10 Aug 2012 15:40:43 GMT.
Hraedhyth has a boyfriend~
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